Blue
by GorillazObsessor
Summary: Murdoc Niccals is not the person for the job, but he's the one who gets it. Maybe he deserves it. After all, he's the one that ran the kid over in the first place... ((Murdoc's POV, taking care of bedridden Stuart Pot after putting his eye - and arguably half his brains - out, and definitely not growing attached to the him in any way shape or form as he does.))
1. Chapter 1

The clack of the gavel rang through the otherwise silent courtroom. Silent confusion, slow realization, and then outrage. Murdoc was just happy his sorry ass wasn't doing life.

"Take _care_ of him, are you mad?" the kid's mother screamed, not the first to break the silence but the loudest voice in the room. "He's already taken _care_ of him, and now he's… he… Look what's happened!"

"Mrs. Pot, I can assure you a great amount of thought has been put into this decision," said the judge. Murdoc almost scoffed, but given that these idiots had just lightened his sentence to community service, he didn't want to do anything to reverse that decision.

"Bullshit!" cried the woman. "If you assholes knew the first thing about law you—"

She was cut off as the bailiff took hold of her and tried to calm her down. Most of the jury were already gone, probably already thinking about what they were having for lunch. Ignoring Mrs. Pot, the judge began to do the same.

"Mrs. Pot, the decision is final," he said, shuffling his great lumbering body out of the room, "Mr. Niccals is surely capable of such a duty, and perhaps it will even teach him a thing or two. Good day."

Mrs. Pot was still screaming a string of curse words as she was escorted out. As the guards undid Murdoc's cuffs, he finally let out the smug grin he'd been holding in for most of the trial.

He wasn't entirely free yet, of course. Apparently he was supposed to be a nurse to the dumb kid who got in the way of his car all those weeks ago. He almost burst into laughter just remembering how far the kid flew, and how he hit him so hard he knocked one of his eyes clean out.

An honest man might be worried about taking care of some injured kid. Thankfully, though, Murdoc was not an honest man.

* * *

"What do you _mean_ you can't do it?" Murdoc shouted into his rubbish cell phone.

"Maybe we can get one of our _abuelas_ to look after him," Julio said on the other end of the line, "But we sure as hell ain't taking care of some bedridden kid. Pedro an' I ain't nurses, man."

Murdoc ground his teeth together. To let out a little steam, he swerved his freshly "borrowed" car into the lane next to him and cut off some lady with a car far nicer than the one he was currently driving. The loud honk satisfied him just enough to make sure he didn't fling his phone out the car window.

"You think I'm a better option?" Murdoc spat into the phone, "Everything I touch dies, Julio. I got lucky with just knocking this kid's nonexistent brains out, but I don't think killing him is gonna go over so well."

"Then make sure he doesn't die, _hombre_."

Murdoc could have crushed his phone with his bare hands (probably would have if he could afford another one). He didn't get it. Julio was his _guy_ , for the right price he always said yes to the job. But for the first time, right when Murdoc actually _needed_ him, he decided to bail!

Murdoc slammed his thumb down on the end call button and stuffed the infernal machine in his pocket. He'd deal with Julio later. Now, though, his exit was coming up.

* * *

After asking half a dozen different hospital staff members where "Mr. Stuart Pot" was, he finally reached the room his new 'patient' was being held in. Without knocking, Murdoc strolled right through the doorway.

"Alright, where's the little shit?" he asked, going for dramatic effect on purpose. He couldn't wait to see the rage in that Pot lady's eyes…

But rage was not what he found.

Mrs. Pot was currently sitting on a rather uncomfortable looking chair, slouched over her son's unresponsive body. Her face was buried behind one of her arms, and the other was stretched out to hold the kid's hand. Murdoc realized her shoulders jumping slightly as she cried. She didn't even seem to notice when he came in.

It made Murdoc uncomfortable. He didn't do tears. Besides, just about an hour ago in the courtroom she'd been kicking and screaming like a bat out of Hell.

Murdoc coughed, and she still didn't seem to notice him.

"Come on then," said Murdoc, "Hand 'im over. Law's law, y'know."

Mrs. Pot finally looked up at him. Her eyes were red and wet, tears still streaming down her face. Murdoc waited for the recognition to kick in and her sadness to melt into anger.

"You're here to take him…" was all she said, in such a sad, pathetic voice that made Murdoc itch.

"Yes, yes, I'll watch him and read him bedtime stories," Murdoc strained. "Wake him up so we can get going."

"He is awake," she said, her puffy eyes fixated on her unmoving son.

"Come again?"

"He's catatonic," she said to him, so calm despite her tears. They were numb tears now, hopeless. Tears of giving up. Murdoc's stomach turned. "You've killed my little boy. You've taken everything but the shell. The doctors don't think he'll _ever_ wake up."

A tense, cold feeling shivered through Murdoc, starting in the pit of his stomach. Catatonic? Coma? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did he really hit the kid that hard? How the hell was he supposed to take care of someone that couldn't move, or talk? Forget the issue of him pissing by himself, the kid was a ragdoll! Murdoc would have to spoon-feed him and wipe his ass and change his clothes and give him sponge-baths!

No, not Murdoc. Whoever he managed to convince to do it for him would. If not Julio, then that bloke from the drug store. Maybe even Henry if he paid enough. Anyone but Murdoc. He calmed down as he thought it through, and tried to convince himself he was doing the kid a favor by making someone else look after him.

"Right," Murdoc managed, only missing a beat, and even that bugged him. "How're we getting him in the car?"

* * *

Two hours later, after all the chaos of transporting the kid to his run-down flat, after giving up on trying to assure the Pot lady he wasn't intending on killing her precious little boy, and finally managing to shove everyone out of what little and rotten living space he had, Murdoc was finally alone.

Well, not _alone_ , he supposed. Until he could find someone to dump the kid on he'd be stuck with him. Then again, he was pretty unresponsive. Murdoc could slap him in the face and the little idiot wouldn't even be able to raise an arm. Eyes half-open - though most often simply closed - body limp, propped up slightly with a pillow, laying on his little bed the staff had wheeled in for him.

The only thing that indicated he was even alive was the soft, rhythmic breathing and the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Medically speaking, Murdoc wasn't sure what exactly what he'd done to the kid, but so far it seemed to be just like falling asleep and not being able to wake up. He could almost envy him. Some of Murdoc's happiest memories were dreams.

Pulling away from his thoughts, Murdoc dug the cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Julio's number. Maybe he could intimidate some sense into the bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

"How many times I gotta tell you no, _hombre_?"

"As many as it takes for you to change your answer to yes," Murdoc responded. He was gripping the phone so tight it was a wonder it hadn't snapped in half already.

He'd been at this for hours. Murdoc had called as many people as he could, met up with a few old friends, but shockingly, no one was jumping at the chance to watch over a ragdoll with a diaper until his community service hours were up. All he had left was to go back to Julio.

Julio was one of his best guys. He wouldn't call him a friend, exactly. You don't pay friends to do favors for you. At least, Murdoc didn't think you did. He doubted very much he'd ever had an actual friend in his life.

Yet Julio was usually there for him when he needed him. Not for much more than the occasional help with, er, "borrowing" things, or making Murdoc's enemies disappear so he didn't have to get his hands dirty. But everything Julio ever did for Murdoc was paid for, sometimes in a bag or two of mysterious white powder slid between shaking hands.

For all his faults, Julio was at the very least reliable. For the right price he'd do anything, and he wouldn't even ask questions about it. At least, that's what Murdoc thought.

"That's not gonna happen, man," came Julio's response. "You know better than most I ain't in the business of taking care of people-"

"I thought that was exactly what you did," Murdoc interjected. The groan on the other end made him chuckle. "Come on, Julio. Do me a solid. I'll even pay tri- er… double what I usually pay you."

"I ain't taking no payment, and I ain't taking care of some drooling coma patient for you."

"What about—"

"I ain't got no contacts, I don't got any advice, and I ain't watching him for you."

Murdoc bit his tongue to keep him from screaming back into the phone. There was a long sigh on the other end of the line.

"You had this comin', _hombre_. You hit the kid, and now you're gonna have to be the one to clean up your mess. Maybe you'll learn somethin'."

There was a click as the call disconnected, and Murdoc didn't waste another breath to scream and throw his phone at one of his walls. As if it was holding on to dear life, it refused to break, instead falling unceremoniously to the soiled carpet below.

He could hardly believe Julio was preaching to him about morals. As if his record was so clean! But even then, he was more upset at the fact he hadn't found a single person he could coerce into doing his bidding. Probably if he had more cash… But then, almost all of his problems could be solved with more cash.

With a frustrated growl, Murdoc all but collapsed onto his couch, his face buried in his hands. Well, fuck. What the Hell was he going to do now? He dragged his hands down his face and looked between his fingers at the brat who'd gotten him into all this. If the moron hadn't gotten out of the way of his car, none of this would have happened.

How the Hell was he supposed to play gigs and bring girls home with this half-dead zombie taking up most of the space in his crap apartment?

"This is all your fault," he growled menacingly, getting up and stomping over to Stuart. "You weren't even supposed to be working that night, you useless—"

He rant was interrupted with a small groan. Murdoc felt a spark of hope (something he hadn't felt for quite a long time) grow in his chest.

"Hey, Stu?" he said, "You're alright, yeah? You awake?"

Stuart's eyes fluttered, but never opened all the way. It didn't matter, though. Murdoc could see the damage he'd done to him. One eye was perfectly fine, the other was a deep red, as if it was filled with blood. Murdoc couldn't remember ever seeing blood that dark before.

"Woah…" he whispered in wonder, staring into eyes that didn't see.

He'd been told by his lawyer the damage he'd done to Stuart, but since most of it was explained to him while he was still sobering up after the crash, he didn't retain too much of it. All he remembered was that he hit someone, a kid with blue hair. He remembered being told he "knocked one of his eyes out," but he'd just assumed that was a false memory, or some fact twisted with alcohol. Now that he could see what he'd done, though, he knew exactly what knocking an eye out meant.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty. As far as he was concerned he'd done the kid a favor. When he woke up, he could tell all his posh friends about how the famous Murdoc Niccals (he was sure he'd be famous by then) gave him a permanent black eye.

He'd get all kinds of girls with a look like that. It made him look… supernatural. Ethereal? Murdoc couldn't find a good word for it, but he knew he was right.

Staring at Stuart reminded him of his quest. He'd talked to everyone he knew about this, and they'd all said no. If this were any other situation Murdoc might look into people he _didn't_ know, but even he knew this wasn't something he could sweep under a rug.

He couldn't let Stuart die. If he did, both their lives were over.

Murdoc stared down at the blue-haired kid he thought had ended his life.

Murdoc Niccals would be buried in the cold hard earth for centuries before he let anyone stop him from doing what he wanted. He smiled at the kid who had changed nothing, who had just become nothing more than a speed bump in his joyride of a life, fueled with alcohol and freedom.

A speed bump wouldn't stop him.

With new conviction, Murdoc threw the covers off the kid and went about dressing him for a night out.

"It's you and me, kiddo," said Murdoc with a smirk, heaving Stuart over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "We'll paint the town red."


End file.
